The Spotless Mind
by Va Vonne
Summary: Five years after the war, Draco is found in his bedroom. Yet to the surprise of the Ministry, the boy is alive, but Oliviated. Can she help Draco to cope with the realization of his part in the War? Or will Death Eaters get to him first? DMxHG. R&R!
1. Spotless

**Vonne: **I've been a bit inspired lately and so this is what I've come up with around two in the morning to cure my insomnia. I hope that this picks up, and I'm excited to hear what you think about the very first chapter of a story that is brand new. This chapter is on the shorter side, only because it is the first of many. My plan is to have long chapters, and to work on this while I'm working on 'Cellar Door', as well. As always, this story will stick around as long as I see that it is liked, so please don't hesitate to let me have it- tell me what you think, the good, the bad, and everything in between. I'll include a longer summary of it below. Thank you!

**Summary: **Something has happened to Draco Malfoy. Five years after the war, he is found in his bedroom, bruised, bloody, and unconscious. There is sign of a struggle, yet to the surprise of the Ministry, the boy is alive. Having been Obliviated, he cannot remember much of anything about the War or the people in his life. The case of his parent's murder and the mysterious sightings of surviving Death Eaters has gone ignored- seems as if Draco Malfoy is not the true priority for the rest of the Wizarding World. However, when Draco is dropped in the care of Hermione Granger, it appears that all hope for the boy is not lost. Can Hermione help Draco to cope with the realization of his part in the War? Or will the last remaining Death Eaters get to him first?

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_"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd. "_

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**Chapter One:**  
**Spotless**

They'd find him on the floor of the Manor, alone and bruised.

He'd be stung out along the ground in a desolate and broken manner with his blond hair strung across his face and his eyes swollen for good measure. His wand would rest only inches away from his fingertips- musican's fingers that would appear lifeless and unclenched as if he had only just given up. And, until they'd turn on the lights of his room, they'd find that he was there in the blackness, swallowed by the greed of the merciless night with nothing but the wind at the curtains for company. Then they would lit the tips of their wands and near with caution, allowing the bulbs of their weapons to lead the way to the man of twenty-two, who looked more like a boy than he ever had in his entire life.

They would find his mouth to be agape, allowing flow for a trail of bright crimson blood to tarnish the translucent front of his pale and battered flesh. His head would be split, and his hair would be matted; everything about him would be twisted as if he had taken a fall that may have left him forever crippled. And they'd notice he was without shoes, socks, and a proper coat, despite the winter weather in the world outside him. There would be slight sign of a struggle and the way in which the windows were open gave the idea of someone having fled. A group of Ministry Men would come and search the scene; though they would explore every inch of the Malfoy's mansion, they would soon discover that there was no body left to find.

Yet the presence of an intruder was not the only absent being in the house. Sooner or later they would notice that the two eldest Malfoys had been gone, as well. There would be no note, and no bags would be packed. In the large room that the couple had slept in, everything would appear to have been perfect. The beautiful clothing belonging to Narcissa Malfoy would remain untouched; a lovely emerald green outfit would be lying on the surface of the massive bed as if it had been planned for the next day. They'd fish through the drawers and peer under the bed, and finally they'd come across a silver twinkling object in the darkness. Lucius Malfoy's discarded walking stick would be slanted across the center of the closet, his own wand completely gone from it. Blood would be on the corner of the white walls, in the cracks of the tile, and the depths of the carpet. It would be dried and crusted for they would find that it had been that way for weeks without disturbance. Only a fraction of the mess seemed to have been washed, scrubbed away by hand as if desperate and hurried. It was a job that had not been finished, only completed half-way for reason that they were not quite certain. And all would lead back to the boy, the Malfoy son, the only sole human in the house whom appeared just as dead and gone as the rest of his family.

Upon further inspection, however, they would find that he was breathing. Covered by a thin and buttoned pyjama shirt, his chest would rise and fall with the intake of consistent shakes. Though unconscious, he would appear to have trouble with doing so, uneasily drawing in air into his lungs in a way that made him suffer. His pulse would be slow, and his face would be blue; they'd find that it had been only hours since whatever it was that had occurred, but their arrival could not have been any later. His heartbeat would signify to them that he had been fading, barely hanging on through his haziness of subconsciousness. Thus, they'd gather around in inquiry and pick him up with their hands in a hopeful effort not to move him too harshly. And his head would lull backwards, his unkempt blond hair would dangle in a way that was just as lifeless as he. He would not make a sound when lifted. Rather, he would only hang in a faint manner in which his arms and legs could sway over the floor and his bare feet would do the same. They'd exchange looks and head nods, muttering the standard report back and forth to one another in a form of awful cliche. Then, they'd carry on with their work, their investigation; though moving the fragile boy would come as an instinct.

They would take him away from the bedroom filled with juvenile posters of Quidditch stars and Slytherin flags, lead him through the marvelous hallway of family portraits that had adorned the walls as a document of his childhood existence. He'd be carried through the living room that once looked dazzling and magnificent, but then would only appear rugged as if torn apart. However, they would not remain within the confines of the Manor for much longer; the boy would be delivered out into the cold, presented to the rest of the Ministry that would gather just before the gates in the form of a massive cluster. There, from his view on the lawn, Kingsley would watch the pale white figure of the boy as he was brought forth and he would wait until the others had made their arrival to permit that he finally be removed from the scene.

And the boy would lie in a room alone in St. Mungo's, stuck in a form of comatose that would last a matter of a week. He'd be unconscious when the paper ran the next morning and the headlines would scream out the night's disaster in black bolded letters. He'd never hear the break of the news on the radio or talked about in the nearby pubs. However, the rest of the world would be buzzing; the Malfoy family had been murdered, every last one of them expect for the youngest- the boy who had never really stood a chance in the first place.

Then they would talk about the severity of it all, the way they suspected the surviving Death Eaters to have come back for revenge on the family who had escaped court, Azkaban, and the like. It would be a common belief, too, once sightings of those that had gone missing had just... shown up. First it would be Alecto Carrow and her brother, Amycus. The two stout siblings would be spotted in their hooded cloaks, wearing broad smiles as they strode in solitude through the streets of Hogsmeade in the dead of the night. And the next would be Antonin Dolohov, who, along with Augustus Rookwood and Avery just would not be able to keep themselves hidden for much longer. And as the seven days passed, the likes of them would show up as ghosts, specters in the night that stood among the shadows of the universe around them.

But the unconscious boy would be, of course, left only to his own thoughts. He remained unaware of the events that had sparked around him. However, the accusation of Death Eater involvement would remain a suspicion. Their reemergence into the Wizarding World seemed unlikely to the rest of its inhabitants, and in reality, no one really cared much about the blond boy after all. As an ex Death Eater, he had gotten what he'd had coming to him. And he had almost not received a single visitor, aside from the stunning Pansy Parkinson and the plump Gregory Goyle.

In pairs they'd arrive at his bedside, their backs stiff with the suspicion that someone was watching. The girl would complain that he was not tended to and the boy would only sit there in thought, his meaty hand pressed up against the boy's clammy forehead as if to feel for a fever. He'd bring the boy his things in collective packages, dropping them off at the foot of his hospital bed proudly as if the newest artifact he'd arrived with would bring him out of his delirium.

However, it would be on the seventh day that the boy would finally wake up. In the darkness, it would be Goyle who would notice his eyes flutter open first, weakly as is too lazy to do so properly. With a hoarse intake of rattled breath, he'd gaze upon the pair of them before crying out. Horrified, the boy would break out into a panic, at a loss for words until he was heard by the Healers in the room nearest him. Too weak to move, he would only be able to lift himself slightly, sufficient enough to cower away and hold his arms out in defense over his blond head. He'd sob, "where am I?" and "please don't come near me," through a fit of tears that would shake him and make him weaker.

And Goyle, stunned by his best mate's instant action of unfamiliarity, would sputter forwards, and Pansy would too. She'd cry out longingly, "please, Draco! It's only us!" To which the hysterical patient would respond, only by cries. And, try as they might, they would not be able to calm him. The Healers would come together with their wands outstretched and their feet against the tile in motion that was fast paced and determined. They'd keep him calm with silent hexes and send him back to the world of dreams so that he no longer had to suffer the pains of being awake.

Yet they would not be able to keep him under for long, and sooner of later, the task of arousing him would arrive. Thus, he would awake the second time in the same manner, alone despite the presence of the Ministry and a few select Healers that could keep him guarded. They would tell him that he was safe, unharmed, and being looked after, inform him that something had happened and it had been a tragedy. Kingsley would start with what they'd knew, how his mother and father had been dead and how he, Draco, had been found alone in the bedroom of his house in the night. He'd tell him of the overturned living room, the way that his mother's things had been left, and that his father's wand had been taken. He'd tell him that the Ministry suspected the Death Eaters, but the lead was not for certain, and for the most part they remained uncertain. However, the lack of recognition in the boy's eyes told Kingsley otherwise.

He would appear to have not remembered. Though he broke down at the mention of his parent's death, he would not connect their information as a recognizable tale. And, upon further questioning, they would find that he did not remember the War, the Death Eaters, or the man that he had known as the Dark Lord alone. Pansy and Goyle were nothing but a glisten in his recollection. Eventually he would remember their faces, though nothing about his relationship with the two of them would match up. Still, in due time the Ministry would find him to have been Obliviated, the vast majority of his memory gone completely.

He would be found to have been barely able to speak or move. Walking would be a task, everything would have to be relearned, reprogramed. And so, he would lie in the sheets of his hospital bed as a blank slate; his mind buzzing with the loss of some of the only two people he could really ever remember loving at all. He would remain nothing but a body, a being without substance or anything really at all. He would refuse to eat, and sleep during the day and look at photographs of himself with his mates while trying desperately to remember what had happened in that day, that time, that moment.

Nothing, however, would ever come to him. Though the others would come to him with cards and images and planned out lessons. They'd teach him how to speak again, and help him move his feet when he would not properly be able to use them on his own. Then they'd shove a wand in his hand, tell him it was his, and recite a list of spells that he found almost impossible to remember. He wouldn't be able to help the desire for his mother's warmth or his father's safety, would remain helpless to the difficulty that reprogramming himself would come. And a Healer with a young face and a floating quill would come into his room every evening to say, "hello, Draco, do you remember what my name is?"

And with an overwhelming sense of difficulty, the boy would respond in a voice that was rough, swollen, and unprepared before he was whisked from the mattress and helped through the rest of the day. They would help him with food and dressing, listing off phrases or spells that they would try and help him to recall. It would be two full weeks before they would decided that he was ready, as as ready as he would ever be, and they'd help him with his things before contacting the likes of Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle to work out the rest of the boy's arrangements.

It would run in the paper that the Malfoy boy had been released, and they'd do so in the dead of the night so that he could escape the reporters and their questions that he would not remember the answers to. He'd be scuttled to Goyle's, where Pansy and her chubby mate would sit on the couch opposite the blond and rest a hand on his knee before handing him scrapbooks and journals and photographs. They'd tell him that, if he wanted, he could stay in bed all day, and that's all the boy really wanted anyway. So they'd discuss his condition in the late night and decide that he could not return back to the Manor, so he would stay at Goyle's, who decided he would keep the morning newspapers out of sight for the time being.

But then the boy would start to want to leave the house, and his desire to walk the streets that he did remember would grow. Much to Goyle's dismay, he'd wake to find the boy staring out the window or struggling to read the books on the town and everything interesting about it. He'd invite Pansy and the two would give the boy a hooded jacket so that he was barely recognizable, and they'd talk loudly over the hisses from the others that still did not like the boy and what he did five years ago in the War that had shook the foundations of their world forever. Someone unseen would levitate an apple in the air and direct it promptly at the boy's covered head, yet he would not connect the reason as to why he was so disliked and, after all, both Pansy and Goyle would have a very hard time telling him.

Then the nightmares would start coming in and he boy would not understand the image of the face that was dead and rotting in his dreams of a man that would appear pale and gray, and speak in a voice that was snake-like and high pitched. He'd sit up in bed and pant and Pansy would appear at his door with a look of concern while Goyle would prepare tea that the boy would not want at all. They'd coax him back to sleep but all the boy really wanted to know was why. Why was it that he couldn't remember anything at all, while everyone else seemed so reluctant to fill him in on the details? He'd cling to Pansy's dress robes, beg her mercilessly to tell him, but she'd only pant a soft kiss on his forehead and wait there until finally he fell back asleep.

Eventually, the Malfoy son would give up. He'd stop asking about his past and all the people that were in it. He'd stop questioning them about his connection with the three they called Harry James Potter, Ron Billus Weasley, and Hermione Jean Granger. He'd stop asking and he'd let them put him back together, and eventually he would be just another numb soul in the darkness that did not leave the house and would not say much at all.

And then the boy would become nothing but a charity case, a broken toy that was in need of heavy repair. Pansy would write angry letters to the Ministry and the responses that would come back in were formal and unsympathetic. So, as a last ditch effort, Pansy would write one last letter to Hermione Granger, the biggest know-it-all that Pansy Parkinson could remember in all her years. She'd demand he be put back together, because she would be certain that Hermione would know how to do it, and she'd state that she would expect a reply as soon as physically possible. She'd send it off in an owl who would place the thing at the Granger girl's doorstep, and she would read of Parkinson's utter desperation. She missed the old Draco Malfoy, that was something that she would make undeniably clear.

Too bad Hermione did not. Thus, she'd toss the letter and would not bother to return back any sort of note. She'd think Draco's memory loss something suitable, proper even, as if he were better off. She would ignore the follow up letters that Pansy would send, growing angrier and angrier as each of her notes would go without response. Rather, she'd read the paper about the boy and stare at his face on the front cover, watching his story fall from the top spot, to the second page, the obituaries, and then vanish from the post completely.

Sure, she would feel a bout of sympathy for the boy, but the feeling was common for someone like Hermione, who would always tend to see both sides of every situation. Nonetheless, she would keep herself rooted, and she, just like the rest of the world, would move on.

Thus, only Draco Malfoy would remain, perched on the end of his bed, clad in his pyjamas with nothing but a wand and the posters that had been brought from his old bedroom as company. He'd reside that way until Pansy Parkinson would realize that she was absolutely certain she could not take it anymore. Then, forcefully, she'd whisk the boy up from his mattress and direct him across the room to his dresser where she'd thrust a heavy coat in his hands along with the rest of a thick winter outfit. She'd help him with his shoes and tie a scarf around his neck and yank him out of the house, down the stairs, to the very person that she'd been trying to contact for days.

Her high heeled shoes would clip-clop against the stone earth and she'd let him dangle in silence at the end of her arm, Gregory Goyle sputtering nervous objections to her plan in her ear. She would, however, ignore him. Pansy Parkinson would know what had to be done. Still, in the dead of the night, she'd see the outline of Hermione's small house, they one she'd shared with Potter and Weasley, and she'd stomp up the rugged path to find the front door and listen in as she heard their chatter beyond the thick walls.

Then, she'd lift her fist and pound in a hurry, rattling the foundation of the house and the three beings inside of it. She'd decide that this was it- everything and anything would end here with Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. She would hear the footsteps from inside the house and listen to the three playfully argue about who's turn it was to get the door. Then she'd roll her narrowed eyes and think about how much she bloody well did not give a damn about who opened it.

She knew exactly who it was that she wanted to see.

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**Vonne: **Please do not hesitate to review! Thank you!


	2. Eternal Sunshine

**Vonne: **Thank you so much to everyone that reviewed! I am in a huge, massive hurry tonight and I can't respond back to all of you today, but I promise that it will be done next time. For those of you that don't know, usually I respond back to all that reviewed me before each chapter. This time, however, I only have time to saw thank you from the bottom of my heart. Each review is appreciated! Thank you:

**x Bluebell Flames x**, **Shining Bright Eyes**, **Pearlrose33**, **Isabella120**, **Dark Angel of Sorrow Returns**, **LivelyMcBrighten**, **Psychic City**, **LeCandeh**, **McLanna,** **Jade2099**, **Manitou2422**, **Darkcrystalwings**, and **Tragic Slytherin**. I am so sorry that I could not answer your questions today, but I promise to make it up next time! I hope you all enjoy this extra long chapter!

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"Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders."

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**Chapter Two**  
**Eternal Sunshine**

"This was a stupid idea," whispered Gregory Goyle in his last ditch attempt to get Pansy Parkinson to turn around. The statement, however, was meant only half-heartedly; Goyle had never really found anything Pansy did to be 'stupid'. In fact, he quite liked anything involving the girl alone, nonetheless, he could not deny the sheepish nerves that had been taunting his posture since he had scrambled out of the house behind her. Still, he'd followed her to the home of Hermione Granger, and, despite the fact that Pansy had already knocked on the door, he held true to the hope that she would change her mind and allow the lot of them to disappear into the night. Yet he stood only a few inches behind her, watching Draco Malfoy through the corner of his eyes. Though the three had only been standing there for several moments, the blond had managed to remain completely silent and still, moving only to stuff his hands in his pockets and glance longingly down at his shoes. "This was a stupid idea, and we still have time to turn back."

Pansy's lovely face contorted. "This was _not_ a stupid idea," she hissed in a low manner so that she would not be heard by the others. "This is the only bleeding idea I've got left. Unless you'd like to try your hand at creative spontaneity?" She stalled in her speech, lifting an arched eyebrow as if waiting for him to ingeniously think of some other alternative by some sort of miracle. He had nothing; still, he remained in an uneasy manner with his fingers writhing around one another. Pansy only lifted up the bend of her upturned nose. Huffing, she returned her focus back to the door in front of her. Then she growled, "as I thought."

Goyle glanced to Draco Malfoy; before all of this, he surely would have jumped to Goyle's defense. However, the lack of insight in Draco's eyes caused Goyle to back up a bit. It was, of course, a strange feeling to have not been recognized. Over the past couple of weeks, he had been grateful to find that Draco had been taking more comfortably towards he and Pansy, but it was undeniable that his demeanor was not as it used to be. He still kept his distance and a vast majority of his silence. Instead, he seemed to have been more frustrated and humiliated by his state to do much of anything else. It was an aspect that had both infuriated and motivated Pansy, while Goyle remained rather useless in the background. Thus, he only vocally objected to Pansy's idea of confrontation. Inwardly, he figured that, if anyone truly could help Draco, Hermione Granger was probably their best bet.

The door then pulled itself open and, at the center of the doorframe stood Hermione at last. She looked pretty, though rugged, and Draco's eyes flinched with a hint of something that only Goyle noticed. He froze, watching Draco in a way that left his mouth hanging slightly open and his shoulder dangling fairly low. Pansy, however, had ben too busy with Hermione to notice any difference about the blond. Instead, she took to readjusting herself, standing erect in a form of superiority that showed off the fact that she, unlike Hermione, was not clad in her pyjamas. She stood at the doorstep eagerly, her chest thrust outward while her hip was bent casually to one side. "Well," Pansy said, after a few seconds had passed without anything said, "aren't you going to invite me in?"

Hermione ran a spidery hand through her bushy brown hair. She glanced towards the two figures of Ron and Harry on the living room couch behind her. They stood rigidly, looking perplexed as to the appearance of perhaps the only guests they'd have never expected. "Do I have much of a choice?" she asked hypothetically, and sighed as she stepped away and made room for the three to pass her.

Pansy then turned to Draco and her hostility faltered. She leaned in towards him gently, placing a hand on his back and pushing a lock of messy blond hair from his cold gray eyes. "Come on, Draco," she whispered softly, and scooted him inwards while brushing by Hermione on purpose. Only Goyle, who remained standing in the doorframe, stood waiting. Only when Hermione lifted her brow, however, did he scamper into the house and flinch when he heard the door slam hastily behind him. "You," Pansy said, turning on her heel once she'd had herself through the barrier of the household, "have got a whole lot of nerve!"

"Nerve?" Hermione counteracted, her face reddening. Her own pretty face had adjusted itself, and she wore an expression that was only slightly less ravenous than Pansy's. She had not changed much, however, over the past five years. She still managed to look clean, despite the mess of her hair, and her face appeared kind, even with the lines of frustration she was currently sporting.

"Yes! Nerve!" Pansy cried, her own dark hair falling against her complexion. She looked immensely profound, dangerous even, though Hermione Granger did not show any signs of backing down. From the back of the living room, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter looked incredulous, their shoulders sagging with the weight of not truly knowing how to properly handle the situation. However, it was more than obvious that Hermione could handle Pansy on her own, despite remaining at a distinct distance. "Over the past two weeks I've sent you six letters!" Pansy held out her hands and waved six perfectly manicured fingers in the air before her. She'd left Draco and Goyle to fend for themselves, leaving them to stand at the corner of the room in absolute silence. "Six!" she proclaimed.

Hermione breathed out. "Ah, the letters," she mused, and leaned back against the table. She offered Pansy a slightly miserable grin and said simply, "trust me, I've noticed."

"And yet they have not been returned?" Pansy looked blatantly mad, her hair frazzled about her face in a manner that did not reflect her clean-cut demeanor at all. Her pillowy green coat looked uncontrollable about her collar and, with fast-moving fingers, she reached to unfasten it. Underneath her jacket, Pansy still managed to look radiant, however Goyle had known her to dress for any given occasion. No matter how important Draco's condition had been, Pansy Parkinson had always made a point that she looked at least presentable.

"Pansy, it is not my obligation to return-"

"It bloody well _is_ your obligation!" the Slytherin shrieked. "Aren't you Gryffindors supposed to be _noble _and all that nonsense?" She was heaving, her chest rising with every intake of breath. Her eyes burned with the hold that they had upon Hermione Granger. Something about her, however, looked desperate, and it was an emotion that did not go overlooked by Hermione. However, Harry Potter took upon it himself to ruin the moment of realization. He strode from the living room, and Ron Weasley was hot on his trail. Thus, the green eyed boy kept his wand held at the ready. Though he did not lift it, he looked all the more intriguing to Goyle as he stood there with the mere threat of doing so.

In his pyjamas, Harry Potter looked all the less daunting and Pansy did the most she could but to raise her eyebrow and step minutely back. "Our _obligation _is to our _friends,_ Pansy," he hissed, "not our enemies."

"Enemies?" Pansy recoiled, looking lost. She let the expressions on her face deflate and put on an appearance of being somewhat hurt. Then, slyly, she readjusted herself, conforming her complexion to a spot of recognition before shrugging her shoulders and doing her best to put on a facade of innocence. "Oh," she said, referring to the consistent spats that used to plague both Draco and Harry during their many years as schoolmates. "That silly old thing? All those year ago?" When neither Hermione, Harry, or Ron made any signal of letting her pass, she finally released her mask. Pulling her hair aside from her face, Pansy's eyes held the focus of someone who had been a bit prematurely defeated. "Look," she said humbly, "you don't have to do it for me, Granger. But Draco..."

Pansy's stature dropped. Draco Malfoy remained put, his stance havering. He had not looked at anyone but Harry and Ron, though something about his attention seemed all the more locked upon Hermione. "He doesn't remember a thing... he can barely do anything on his own," Pansy informed them, though she was certain that they had read all about it in the news. "It's not fair... not even to him."

"Why's he staring at me like that?" Hermione Granger suddenly looked uneasy, faltering in her spot with Ron and Harry at her side in equally perplexed statures. They watched Draco's face with tilted heads, trying to piece together the meaning behind his blank gaze. But Draco only stood in a still manner, his head cocked slightly downwards as if fearful to get too close to the girl. However, his eyes wandered all over her complexion, taking her in with an image that was soft and forlorn all at once. His hands had come out of his jacket pockets, only to dangle at his side uselessly, and even Goyle stopped in his fretting to give the boy one simple look.

Malfoy, nonetheless, did not move. Only, he kept himself standing by the couch, and finally, in a broken motion, he slowly lifted the end of his hand to his nose and touched it before his face morphed into the image of having been caught off guard. He knotted his brows together and Hermione turned stiffly back to Pansy. "I think he remembers the time I punched him in the nose." Draco flinched, as if Hermione had only reassured his recollection, and like a small child, he glanced towards Pansy delicately, hoping that she could perhaps put the statement into more perspective.

"Thankfully," heaved Pansy, "he remembers some things, though I'm a bit upon how exactly he chooses which. Lately its been the most random of details." She seemed a bit razzled, envious at the fact that Draco had chosen to remember a moment in time that had involved Hermione, of all people. However, she let herself readjust, pressing out the wrinkles in her dress before proclaiming herself relaxed. "Granger," she breathed, "I'm not asking much. I'm just asking for you to... put him back together again."

"Ah." Hermione leaned back slightly, brushing her hair out of her face in a soft manner that made her look cool and casual. It was a look she had never really pulled off in her years at school and Pansy could not help but to inwardly admit that she had been impressed. She kept her back straight and the way she glanced at Draco gave Pansy the signal that she had at least a bit of sympathy for his situation. Though it was not for him, she decided, but the circumstance. She was okay with that.

"I can't handle this Draco anymore. He's not himself, he's not the Draco I knew."

"And that's a bad thing?" Ron Weasley studied Draco, who had still remained holding his gaze back onto Hermione's. There was something about the look in his eye that was a bit fearful, yet he only swayed in his spot next to Goyle, who strode over the the living room dining chairs and smiled apologetically at Hermione before scooting it by Draco's shin. Then, when he's had it positioned there, he helped his friend down into it and gave Pansy a helpless glance. She had been, however, giving the redhead a rather demeaning glare before she had noticed Draco sitting.

"Yes," she said, sighing once she'd seen the image of the blond slumped there. He'd coward away from the Granger girl and, despite his bout with Pansy, Ron gave Hermione an amused jab in the ribs. Pansy ignored him. Instead, she neared towards Draco, resting a hand on his shoulder and, to the other's surprise, he seemed not a bit more relaxed. This upset Pansy and she chewed nervously on her bottom lip as if she were on the near verge of tears. Then she shook her head, causing her short hair to swipe against her rosy cheeks before puffing back out her chest again. She looked defiant, stubborn even. The way stood there still made her appear careless and a bit vain. "This is definitely a bad thing," she said flatly. "He's utterly impossible. This will not do."

Hermione watched Draco intently and she ignored Ron and Harry as they gaped in disbelief behind her. "And that's not Hermione's problem," Ron interjected, stepping toward graciously so that he could almost protect Hermione. His red fluff fell floppily across his freckled forehead and he looked all the more strange in his fleece pyjamas. Hermione, however, only gave him a sympathetic look before placing a hand on his shoulders and signifying for him to step down. "You're not seriously considering this," Ron yelped, and he thrust his arms out to Malfoy as if further demonstrating his point. "Honestly, Hermione..."

"No, I'm not," Hermione scowled, and he titled her head back to one side as Pansy studied her blank expression. "Now if you'll excuse us, Pansy..."

"No!" It took a moment for Hermione and the others to register what had actually happened. Pansy Parkinson, however, was bent double. Her previously porcelain complexion had reddened and she could not help but look absolutely miserable. There was something about her eyes, as well, that struck the three of them unexpectedly. Her vanity seemed to have faltered and never before had the woman appeared more human than she had then. Her lower lip trembled and she glanced towards Hermione with so much worry that she almost looked faint at the sheer intensity of it. "Please," she choked, and Hermione guessed it was the first time she had ever used the word in her life, "you have no idea what it's like!"

Her chest heaved up and down, and her face fell with the lack of genuine support; she'd given up and that much was blatantly clear. "He doesn't move," she said, "he doesn't speak!" Pansy's stature lurched and she sagged weightlessly. "You," she stammered, extending yet another finger towards Hermione intently, "you're the only o-one... y-you're the only one who could fix him." Her eyes shined and she looked miserable, absolutely so in the way that she stood helplessly crushed beyond belief. And her hair looked flat against her skull, sticking to her clammy skin so much so that she barely even managed to push it out of her face. Thus, she stood there panting, hyperventilating beyond simple humiliation. She looked only pitiful, fearful, and Hermione could not notice the distance she kept from Malfoy in general.

"I don't know him," Pansy then bolted out, her cheeks flushing with the frustration of having not been remembered. Draco didn't move; only, he looked at Pansy with the deepest hint of sorrow despite not quite being able to help her out. Nonetheless, he watched her breathing, the way her eyes slanted back to him in sadness before slipping down in defeat. She shook her head at Draco solemnly while his face contorted in a way that made him appear embarrassed. Pansy still finally drew herself forward, eyeing the small chairs that sat just nearest the dinging room table. With a sigh, she lowered her shaky body down into it, running her hands through her hair as if the action were the last sufficient one she could properly think of. Then, into the emerald green lap of her lovely dress, she murmured, "I don't know him at all..."

The silence grew long, and Hermione only stood havering with Ron and Harry at her appropriate sides. They watched Pansy watch Draco, whose face melted into the bulk of his own lap in silence. He looked so different and so familiar at the same time, so distinct from the snotty little prat they had known during their years with him at Hogwarts. No longer did his eyes flash with malicious mischief, rather they watched the ground without any real substance at all. He looked lost, empty, blank and slate-like. For no reason or another he himself appeared to have been uneasy with the situation, and took to writhing his fingers by his waist as if to keep him busy. He did not glance up at Goyle, who gave Pansy a simple stare before patting Draco supportively on the back. Only, he sat in his posture alone with himself chewing consistently on his lower lip.

"Look," Pansy breathed finally, "I'll do anything, okay, Granger? Is that what you want?" Her stare shook with aggression and she looked all the more serious in her obvious hostility. "I've got money," she stated, though her tone sounded shaky and far-off. Still, she leaned up against the table and drew her shoulders up close to her ears. Quickly, she dug through the contents of her small handbag, rummaging around for anything of value that she may have had hidden within its contents.

The bout of nothingness lasted far too long, and the trio watched Pansy as she frantically dug around. Her relentless finger movements kept her preoccupied and she pulled away everything in her bag as if something truly wonderful had really been hidden underneath the rubble. She'd managed to pick out a ring, some jewelry, and a number of similarly shimmering valuables, yet Hermione, Harry, and Ron only stood dubiously. Their expressions shifted from annoyance to gloom and they stood before Pansy in a small manner with a set of awkwardly arched brows. And Pansy was still only just busy, her focus set solely on her purse and the bribe that she was more than ready to prepare. She coughed, shivering to herself in a strange manner as she reached forward to run her palm across her face before diving into the fabric again.

She appeared unstoppable, determined despite the frozen scene around her. And Goyle started forward, out in advancement towards the girl with his hands outstretched in a way to calm her. However, it was Hermione who finally took to breaking the monotony by breathing back out. In a matching act of nervousness, she scooted away her bushy brown hair and shifted her weight. "Pansy..." she tried, but the girl did not look up. "Pansy..."

"What?" When her face shot upwards, Pansy flickered, her cheeks red to the point of proper explosion. She could not have seemed all the more desperate, the tears glistening before the trio like preordained fountains. She watched Hermione watch her, waited to hear the answer that she could not take any more waiting for. And her stance was slumped in defeat, her hair strewn over her face in the matter of pure exhaustion. She breathed out, ignoring Goyle and Draco who stared back at her in a mixture of uselessness and curiosity. It was a demeanor that Pansy had never tried on before- desperation was definitely not her forte. Yet, she found that she could not truly help herself; this was it, she was about to offer up everything.

"You need to leave." Hermione Granger's face was stern, and Pansy looked to have not truly believed what she'd heard. However, Hermione held herself still, looking solemn over her visage of seriousness. She ignored Pansy's blank face and the way her body slipped downwards further. She dropped her purse back into her lap, looked dumbfounded back at the jewels she had only just placed on the living room table before her. However, Hermione was adamant; her own posture sorry with undeserving guilt. "Pansy, you need to leave."

The lovely girl in green sat still. Her shoulders dropped heavily with the weight of disbelief. "What," she chocked out, her eyes narrowing back at the woman she had known since their years together at school. In all her years, she would have never guessed that Hermione Granger had possessed something of a backbone.

"You, Goyle, _and_ Draco. I'm sorry, but, I can't help you."

"What do you mean you can't help me?" Pansy shouted, and she stumbled up from the seat at the table so much so that she almost tripped in her heels. She did not waste time addressing Harry Potter or Ron Weasley, who had taken to gawking at Hermione with expressions of appearing fondly impressed. "You bloody well _can_ help me and you know it!"

Hermione shook her head, but she did not once look at Draco. Her eyes drooped with the lack of sleep. Her hand swam through her hair for the third time. In the light from the kitchen, the scar reading '_Mudblood'_ shone obviously on her pale and bruised forearm. Pansy caught sight of the nasty thing with a wince before repositioning herself timidly. Hermione, however, did not seem to notice the action. Instead, she stared slyly at the door and continued, "the War's been over. It's been five years, and I'm choosing not to bring back my own memories about it. This is not my burden to bear."

For a moment the woman stood as a statue, her state still and frozen before the table. She did not touch her jewels or push the stray hair out of her face. Instead, she watched Hermione Granger as if finally seeing her for the very first time in her entire life. Her breaths shook her being, her hand hands slumped at her thin side in a simple manner that made her look sullen and concave. Rather, under the light her eyes looked baggy and sleepless, her tired demeanor becoming more and more obvious. Pansy did not seem to notice Goyle advance towards her slow in notion to console her, nor did she mind Draco, who sat in a curious manner with his head tilted down to examine the soles of his shoes.

"Pans..." Goyle croaked, but the woman did not bother to pay him much attention. At the call of her name, Pansy jolted, once again leaning in towards Hermione with a crooked way that made her appear to loom like something rather wicked. She snapped her head back up and Goyle scooted back, as if he could see something daunting about her as well.

"You _will _regret this, Granger!" Pansy shrieked, and she dove back towards the jewelry on the table before scooting them back into her emerald purse with one quick motion. She practically shoved the hair from her face and her steps shook as she stepped back towards Malfoy at the spare seat by the door. Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not bother upon moving; they watched simply, eyes lifted as Pansy took to hastily collecting herself. And her embarrassment was obvious, blatant as she struggled to regain the sense of confidence she had garnered before she'd waltzed into the home in the first place. Yet her lack of success had not helped her. Only rocky footing led her forward so that she could slip past Goyle and redirect her focus at Malfoy around her.

Then Pansy arched forward, shoving past Hermione, who only watched in silence. The former Slytherin girl took her spot nearest Draco, picking him up swiftly, although she offered an oddly tender glance in his direction before scowling back at Hermione effectively. "You three may be perfectly content in your happy little life after the War, but I'll have you know that the world does _not_ revolve around you!"

Ron Weasley shoved through Hermione and Harry, and Goyle yelped to find that he had drawn his wand. "Leave," he commanded, but Pansy only huffed in amusement.

"Oh, come off your high horse," she hissed, and knocked the wand from his grip with her thin little hands. Ron only stared, watching the thing sputter to the floor lifelessly by his bare feet. He moved to scuttle back towards it, but Pansy turned back towards Draco intently before wrapping her hands around his collar and straightening back out the front of his shirt. He stared at her in curiosity, unmoving as she fixed him upright; only his waif-like chest rose and fell with the anticipation of something unfathomable.

She noticed, however, as his gray eyes found the front of Hermione Granger again. He looked fearful, timid underneath the intensity of closeness he had gained next to the girl in general. In his submissiveness, he took several steps backwards and, once Hermione had returned his stare inquisitively, averted his eyes back down to the surface of the panel floorboards. Pansy's head reeled upwards and, glaring over her shoulder, she shot Hermione another cold gaze before turning once again to Draco in a soft and understanding manner.

Pansy drew her hand up to Malfoy's cheek, and ignored the unease that overtook his haunted expression. "Come on, Draco," she breathed, pulling his blond hair back behind his reddened ears. Hastily, she whipped back around, grabbing Goyle's pudgy wrist as she strode towards the door with the two boys lagging back behind her. She ignored the objections from the lot behind her and whisked the front door open before storming back out into the chilly winter.

There came a distinct pop, loud enough to rupture the silence, and then, as soon as they'd come, they had disappeared back into the night.

* * *

Hermione Jean Granger tossed around restlessly in her sleep. She could not do it, she was sure of it. Relaxing was an impossibility, a feat that she was certain she would not be able to pull herself towards. And she could not help but admit the amount of worry that had taken over her very body. She was concerned, horrified even in the way that she felt strange since Pansy Parkinson had left her house in an absolute uproar. Although, despite everything, she told herself that she did not feel guilty- not by a long shot, and this she told herself over and over again.

Draco Malfoy was not her problem, not her issue. He'd made her life in school miserable with harsh words and awful hexes; despite his resistance towards being a Death Eater, he'd never even shown an ounce of regret. This was not Hermione's burden to bear, was not Harry's nor Ron's either. And even the thought of Pansy's arrival in the night had caused a heavy amount of frustration to bubble back up inside of her sternum. Who did she think she was, anyway? She'd lost the War, but she certainly had not lost her vanity. Thus, Hermione's strict stubbornness had only been slightly regained; she felt a shiver run up her spine at the thought of the woman's lack of humility. Nonetheless, everything had finished- everything had ended. Pansy, Goyle, and Draco Malfoy had gone and once again, Hermione Granger was ready for sleep.

_Tune in, turn off, drop out,_ she told herself, but it remained rather difficult. Hard as she try, she could not shake the feeling of something heavy on her shoulders. It weighed miserably on her body as if positioned there over the past couple hours. She writhed on the mattress, clung to the covers and pressed her eyes forcefully shut; nothing, however, could calm the consistent bulk that held heavy in her thundering heart.

Then something sounded out in the room around her and Hermione Granger shot back up. She'd heard it and she was certain- a mournful and perplexed sob that sounded off in the distance in the backyard of her very home. In the blackness of her bedroom, Hermione blinked her brown eyes and tried to adjust her vision. Only, the sound of the woe beyond her was impossible to ignore. It was a whimper, childlike in a manner that reminded her of something small. And, reeling, Hermione pulled herself back up from the sheets, stumbling against the carpet as she swept in a stammer before the pile of unconstrained mess at the floor.

Her fingers found her wand on the nightstand before her, her bare feet slipped into the soles of her ballet slippers that rest nearest the doorframe. And then, she turned back towards the window, peering through the glass in hopes of locating the bother. Yet she saw nothing and her heart pounded behind her shaky skeleton. Thus, her hands curled underneath the frame and she lifted open the glass wide enough so that she could slip her thin body through. Her foot came to the ground with a stumble and the wind whisked away the hair from the numb skin on her tingling face. And she had forgotten all about Pansy and the Malfoy issue in order to save whatever it was in her yard- and she could not help but see the act as a certain way to redeem herself, to prove to her own conscience that she was not completely hardened after all.

Against the dew of the grass, Hermione strode along the stretch before her. Everything whirled by her vision and she kept her wand outstretched by breathing, _"lumos!"_ into the rustle of wind around her. Then the tip of her wand ignited, and a ball of great white light shot out around the end of it. She breathed, barely able to contain herself in the blackness of the twinkling green grass. And all the while she could still hear the solemn sounds of someone crying. Her chest dropped, her grip tightened. Then fearfully, in her trauma, she hoarsely shouted, "anyone there?"

She sounded not a thing like the confident woman she had always hoped that she would eventually become, but she relished in the thought of her solitude, alone apart from the wandering mourner someplace in the green nearest her. However, perhaps she should not have spoken at all. The moment she had finished her inquiry, the sobbing stopped, cut off as if being held up by the clutches of a forceful fist. Her chest plummeted- she hadn't meant to scare it off, had only meant to bring it closer. And the timid direction that the sound maker had taken had only made her all the more determined. She could not let this one go... would not let this one go if her life depended on it.

And perhaps the guilt of having sent Pansy on her way had only just motivated her. It was not, of course, that she sensed the sting of responsibility, yet she could not shake the overwhelming persistence of her lack of character. And she was selfish in her refusal, having only done so in thought of herself, though this was different. Whatever it was in the spawn of her yard was something that she would not let pass her this time. Sure, Pansy had been one thing, but this was different. "Hello?"

Finally, Hermione saw him. In the black exterior of the small yard, she could just about make out the head of white blond hair from where she stood. And the slumped posture that he had taken on was unmistakable. From where he stood, Hermione could only see his back, clad in a thin olive green cardigan and dark fitted trousers. His shoulders were barely held up in the air, and his feet were covered in scuffed black shoes. His hands were lifted, curled anxiously into the roots of his hair in a rough and rugged manner that made Hermione suppose he meant to rip it out completely. And though Hermione had expected a child or a small animal, she instantly recognized Draco Malfoy as helpless and alone.

Nonetheless, she drew herself forward, her wand shaking at her chest as she stepped inwards towards his figure. "Draco," she started, and the figure of the Malfoy boy whirled around, his hands still in his hair. Then she saw his face. Pale and ghost-like, she sported the dark bags under his eyes that made him look morose and sullen. His mouth was turned downwards into a boyish frown and he quite resembled that of a boy who had only just aroused from a ghoulish nightmare. Thus, Hermione did not stop in her stride. Rather, she held her hands out in means of surrender, inching towards him quietly so that he could take some time to properly calm himself.

When he spotted her there in there, however, he did not readjust himself. Instead, he only dropped his hands, stumbling backwards with a single sob that made his face drop drastically. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip, wincing as Hermione lifted her wand higher and said, "oy! Malfoy!" before picking up her pace in the grass around her. She had not, nonetheless, anticipated him to fall backwards in his realization of her presence. Once she'd made her position close enough, the sturdiness in Malfoy's footing gave way and it took a moment for Hermione to remember the article she had read in the obituaries about his rehabilitation programs during his course at Saint Mungo's. Not only had his memory been erased, but he had also lost his ability to preform specific motor skills as well. She grimaced, stalling in her stride to watch him attempt to pick himself up. Still, when she did manage to lower herself to his level, she reached back towards him gently.

"What're you doing in my backyard?" Hermione whispered, kneeling down towards him kindly. She tilted her head, watching him smear away the sweat running down his forehead.

And she realized the difficulty it took for him to speak, though waited until she heard the croak emit from his swollen throat. He started off slow, and then finally mumbled honestly, "I d-don't k-know, I j-just Apparated-"

"Here?" asked Hermione, still reeling as to how Malfoy was able to Apparate in the first place. Perhaps Pansy had not been completely useless in teaching Draco how to preform magic again. Still, she slipped away, scanning the scene of her yard with a look of sheer concern. "Why would you Apparate yourself into my backyard?"

The blond shook his head. "I d-don't..." he begun, but stopped, looking honest and small in front of Hermione for the first time in his life. And Hermione knew nothing else but to believe him; he looked sincere, earnest despite the flashes of fear she could not help but ignore behind his watery gray eyes. But he still tried to writhe away from her, his legs out in front of him in a crooked manner. And Hermione decided that he did- he looked like a child, a boy, who had only just lost his way. She could not fathom the way he had lost himself, could barely even recognize the Draco that she had known all those years ago. There was nothing malicious, nothing demeaning. Only, he looked sincere and frightened, having been caught in the headlights.

And, all the while, she could not shake the feeling that he had been somehow afraid of her.

"_Shh_!" she hushed him, though she placed a palm on his bobbing shoulder for support. His face had collapsed, and his eyes were downturned. Something about him seemed to flicker and he drew back away from Hermione before deciding it perhaps safer to stay nearest her. "Hey!" she whispered, "stop shaking, okay?"

"Something... about y-you-" Malfoy accused timidly, running a hand through his head of hair. "I-" then his hand flew up to his nose and he frowned, looking dubiously dumbstruck.

"Ah," Hermione mused, "that." She remembered the time in third year when she had punched Draco Malfoy in the face in the hills before Hagrid's house with a slight smile. As pleasant as the memory had been to her, however, Draco appeared to have only remembered the punch, instead of the reason as to why. He reeled back, looking at her in an appalled manner as he watched her forceful smirk. Delicate, he dabbed at the tip of his face and his shaking picked up pace. "So you remember select things, do you?" Hermione asked, "do you remember that you deserved every bit of it, as well?"

Draco watched her dumbly. He blinked at the slate of her blank face and withdrew his hand hastily as if his visage had burnt him. Hermione's amused expression did not last. Instead, she softened her face, pulled herself inward and placed her warm hand on Malfoy's chilly cheek. "Do you remember anything at all?" she asked him, tilting her head out of sheer curiosity. "Do you remember Harry Potter or Ron Weasley or Lord Voldemort?" Her complexion was twisted with integrity, but she reeked of kindness that she just could not shed. Certainly she had not expected to have found a miserable Draco Malfoy wandering around in her backyard, but she decided to make due with what she had discovered. "Do you remember Hogwarts? Or the War?"

The blond only stared, his eyes two gray globes that searched her face uneasily before falling short again. He looked blank, though perhaps too easy to figure out. He really didn't know.

He shook, terrified but rooted in front of her dizzily. He pressed his eyes shut and the concentration showed vibrantly in his forehead. Hermione could not help but notice the extreme effort he put behind speaking back out to her, as if he could barely recall the words and how to properly form them. Then finally, he muttered, "... I remember... s-something a-bout..." before stopping short. He reached his arm out, head still perched downward, and pointed out towards Hermione in a way that looked almost like it hurt.

Hermione drew her hair back behind her ears. "You remember something about me?" she asked and he nodded his head forcefully before curling back into himself. Thus, the long silence that Hermione had dreaded ensued. It was something that she did not appreciate, did not desire but at the same time could definitely not help. And Malfoy chose only not to move, rather just to huddle into himself, his shoulders shaking with the sound of sobs that Hermione could hear slightly over the whirl of wind around her. She stared down at Draco, her hands sagging on his shoulder, and gaped ruthlessly at him.

He was like nothing she could have ever imagined before; he looked lost, as if something had completely gone from him entirely. He was shaken up, horrified, and a bout of helpless sympathy took over her crouched stature. She noted the faded Dark Mark on his forearm in the darkness of the particular night and she wondered if he even remembered how it had even got there. Not knowing, she thought inwardly, had to have been a burden. And, though the lack of recollection on Malfoy's part may have been strangely blissful, Hermione had to take into account the mass amount of confusion that she knew had tormented him so.

Because, he had to remember his parents, now dead and gone without much of an explanation. He had to remember the school and the bits and pieces of years that he had spent wandering the corridors. It was, of course, only fragments of moving pictures that just did not fit together.

Yet she could not draw her eye away from the Dark Mark on the boy's arm. It was still there, after all these years... she could still see it. And then, something definitely caught her eye. She noticed it before she was even certain she had seen it correctly: the tattoo on his arm... it was moving. The snake that tumbled from the mouth of the horrifying skeleton there writhed mercilessly in front of her. It looked darker, deeper than she had remembered, as if inked in there... revived from all the chaos of mass invisibility.

"Draco..." Hermione started, staring at him in disbelief, her eyes widening. "Draco..." She seized his arm, ignoring the little yelp that emitted from his throat on impact. Still, she peered down at it, narrowing her eyes into the front of his arm with sheer concentration. She watched the thing writhe, watched the way it swirled on his skin as it had done all those years ago. "Draco," she whispered, her heart pounding so fast in her chest that she could almost physically feel it caress her chest in a manner that was distinctly pitiful, "what is this?" She grazed her fingers in the soft spaces before his arm, turning her head accordingly. "Draco... do you know what this is?"

Malfoy stared down at his own arm, his eyes first locked into Hermione's visage before he slipped them back down to the surface of his own skin. He watched it twist, barely moving in a form of expression that passed by his stretch of white skin. He shook his head, struggling to pull back slightly, but when Hermione would not release him, he muttered, "its b-been..."

Hermione Granger stared at the Mark, watching Draco's face fall with concern. He furrowed his brows, but remained staring back at Hermione almost as if he could not help himself. "It's been what?" Hermione whispered back to him, snapping her head up so that she met his gaze. Her sudden movement shocked him, however, and he blinked, looking down as if embarrassed to have been caught in the act. "It's been what, Draco? It's been moving?"

Malfoy's head bobbed furiously up and down. He looked tormented, as if a collection of ghosts had swam past his vision in a motion that was slow and restless. "Does it hurt?" Hermione asked, and once again Malfoy nodded. Hermione breathed in; she couldn't take anymore of her sitting. Staring at Malfoy there had ignited sorrow that she just did not want. She could no shake it, however, could not push it from the back of her mind no matter how hard she tried. But why would the Mark still be active? It had been five years... five years since the thing had been used as a form of communication by the Death Eaters to Voldemort. She lifted her brow, sat in a buzz with her mind as it ran a mile and minute. "How is this possible?" she asked Malfoy, who only sat beside himself. "This makes absolutely no sense."

Someone had brought it back to life, someone had been using the Dark Mark to connect the Death Eaters. And the death of the Malfoy's had been a sure sign of this... perhaps a murder due to their resistance? Or their lack of commitment all those years ago. But why not Draco? The boy who had never really had his heart put into being a Death Eater in the first place? He had disgraced the family name, had been the core of a vast majority of their problems. Certainly the death of Draco Malfoy was one that would not have gone ignored... and yet, there he was in front of her, alive despite having been broken. She just couldn't understand it, couldn't possibly...

Perplexed, she as she wished whole-heartedly for Draco to remember so that she could simply ask him. "Who reactivated this?" Hermione asked shakily. "Draco... who did this?"

But Malfoy's expression remained uncertain, and he only let his face fall in confusion. "I d-don't," he muttered, "I can't remember...". When he stopped, he looked at her and Hermione could tell; he truly could not. He hadn't known, as Hermione had expected. Hadn't known because knowing was impossible...

Thus, she leaned gently back towards him, placed her hand on his shoulders and pulled down the sleeve to his shirt to cover the thing up in its entirety. She ignored him as he watched her, her focus only wrapped around the covered Mark. Still, she helped him pick himself up and, on staggering feet, she found herself pulling him through the yard so carefully that she almost forgot what her purpose had been in moving him at all. What she could not shake was the pulsating.

She wasn't certain, but she drew him towards her house in the nearby distance. And the Dark Mark nearly burned her reactively- she could feel it through the thin fabric of his shirt. It wriggled and writhed there in a manner that was impossible to ignore. Though, despite the cold and the chill that sent goosebumps up the side of her own outstretched arm, she could sense the presence of it only just there beneath her fingertips.

* * *

**Vonne: **An extremely long second chapter! Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! I'd be happy to hear all of your thoughts and comments! Thank you!


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